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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917153">Going long gone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern'>CravenWyvern</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DS Extras [83]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Don't Starve (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Child Murder, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Vague Maxwil, headcanons galore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:01:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,691</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson tries to get Webber back to camp when the torch goes out.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DS Extras [83]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Going long gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>An anon prompt for something with Nightmare King Maxwell.</p><p>I don't have many fics with Maxwell being on the Throne and what he does on it, but I had a semi idea of this for awhile so it's a good fit!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The torch didn't last long enough.</p><p>Just a little longer till sunrise, Wilson had thought, believed, a few more hours and they'd be okay. The trek back to camp wasn't a long one, normally it was just a few minutes and they'd be back, he'd be able to gather all their medicinal supplies and the fire would be up and roaring and he'd have help, Willow and Wickerbottom were there, had to be-</p><p>-he didn't want to think of the hounds, of how the others must have been attacked too. The leading Varg hadn't been with the wolves that had chased Webber and him, so that usually meant it had split off, went after more prey elsewhere.</p><p>He didn't want to envision a morning with a torn apart, ravaged camp and more blood.</p><p>His shirt was soaked through now, most of it was Webber's purple ichor, but he didn't stop walking forward, didn't stop carrying them through the pitch black night, only his dwindling torch for light. His leg stung, pain jolting up his hip and spine with every step, and the tourniquet wasn't a permanent solution and eventually he'd not be able to walk soon but just a little longer, just a few more hours till the sun comes up, till they reach camp, just a little longer and they'll be safe.</p><p>Webber gurgled wetly against his shoulder, their breath shallow and uneven, but he had done the best he could with what they had on hand, his vest torn to ribbons in an attempt to stem whatever bleeding he could find, and still the image, of one of the more vicious crimson furred hounds, grabbing the child in one snap and shaking them side to side-</p><p>It made him wince, bile rising up his throat as agony shot through his leg at a particular rough patch of ground, rocks and grit before dusty dirt that had his stumble gain balance once more, and Wilson knew he was going to bleed out eventually but Webber was so much worse off then himself.</p><p>He should have packed more armor, better weapons, he should have planned their route towards beefalo or spiders or, hell, even pigmen would've made things easier, Webber could easily avoid those hulking abominations, he's seen them do it!</p><p>But he hadn't, and now here he was, dragging himself and this injured kid through the darkness towards a camp he was so hoping wasn't destroyed, injured and bleeding a blood trail behind them as they went.</p><p>And the torch was going to go out.</p><p>For a moment he almost stopped, an almost tripping halt as he swung the small flickering light about, just a second to try and see if anything flammable was around, but then Webber choked up a spidery whimper and tightened their grip on him and Wilson realized they were shaking.</p><p>"It, it's alright, Webber…" He trailed off, swaying unevenly as he went light headed, dizzy to his core as his injured leg shook underneath him, and the torch was growing smaller, dimmer now as he stared at it, at the complete and utter abyss of darkness all around him. Adjusting his hold on them, firm even as he grit his teeth at the shocks of pain that it gave him, the discomfort as his shirt smeared his own blood and theirs in disgusting pasted stains to the fabric, Wilson sucked in an uneven breath, tried to force his voice to remain even. "I've got you."</p><p>A part of him wanted to say more, wanted to try and promise safety when there was none, but Webber was in shock, delirious with pain and confusion, and all they did was twitter up a gurgling sound. He could feel more blood gush up from their throat as they spat out a few coughs against his shoulder.</p><p>Wilson stayed still a moment longer, steadied himself best as he could, then took one more step.</p><p>And then the torch went out.</p><p>For a faint moment the aftereffects of the light let him almost see, imagine the trailing smoke that came up from the burned out grass bundled end, the faintest glow of the embers, warm and bright against the encompassing darkness, and then that, too, was snuffed out.</p><p>It was very, very quiet, for a moment.</p><p>Wilson breathed shallow, tried to keep calm, whisper quiet and completely still, maybe he had a chance, maybe they both had a chance, if he just kept still and quiet maybe they'd not be noticed-</p><p>And then something rushed, vibrated in a slow, crawling intake of breath that just dragged on and on and on, inhuman lungs, or nonexistent in the first place, and Webber clung to him with a shrill little cry, buried their chitin blood smeared face against his shoulder as their limbs clung and clawed to the mess of his shirt.</p><p>They both knew what that sound was, and even with the shiver of full blown fear and rising panic and the terrors of the night Wilson sucked in a breath, steadied his stance, and glared defiantly out at what he knew would inevitably kill them both.</p><p> </p><p>He hoped it struck him first; Webber made a choking hoarse spidery screech, and he could feel them flail for a brief moment before whatever hit him, dragging against his back with delayed pain flung him, and them, forward. </p><p>It made both of them lose their grip, and Wilson fought the instinct to curl up and try to tough out the coming pain in favor of scrambling to his senses faster, the pitch black all around him sending his balance elsewhere even as he pushed himself up from the dry dirt, leg jolting with the pain but mind entirely focused upon-</p><p>Webber shrieked, long and spidery and terrified, and it shot such a strike of cold dizzy terror through him that Wilson shouted out in answer, trying so hard to find them through the darkness even as that inhuman breath inhaled all around him once again.</p><p>"Webber-!"</p><p>For a moment he almost thought he found them, a moment where he hit something solid, but then he realized it was standing, too big, too tall-</p><p>And then he was down in the dirt again, white hot agony lacing against his back, bubbling up from his chest and shooting from his throat in a hot spitting gag that tore through his senses and blinded him for a few seconds.</p><p>When he came back around, gasping with a hot iron tang coated to his tongue and blood splattered down his chin, Wilson vaguely, dizzily realized he could <i>see.</i></p><p>It was no flame or fire, no light source above or below; the glow seemed to emanate from nowhere at all, this faint amber hue that slowly turned warm, clear.</p><p>
  <i>Will o' wisp.</i>
</p><p>What sight brought didn't help ease Wilson's pain and fear whatsoever.</p><p>Before him was Webber. They had curled up, limbs drawn in and dirt turning mucky with their still oozing ichor, and the darker patches of what had once been Wilsons vest, used for makeshift bandaging, were soaked through in their purple blood now. There was a hint of relief, in realizing they were shivering, shaking and hissing shallow breaths; it meant they were still alive.</p><p>There were no fresh claw marks or wounds on them; the night hadn't lashed out against the child just yet, but judging from the raging agony of his own throat and the fact that, when he shakily drew a hand to his chest it came away coated in blood and flecks of dark crimson clotting, Wilson didn't think he had come out of it so luckily.</p><p>The light, or lack of, just a clear visibility that made his dizzy head hurt even more when he tried to squint his blurry eyes and <i>focus</i>, drew small, a shallow circle, and then there was a telltale sudden whiff of scent in the air, tobacco and foreign spice and rotted roses, thick and cloying over even the smell of his own blood, and Wilson tried to push himself up, limbs on fire and shaking in exhaustion and stress as something shifted inside him and blood came up unwilling from his throat, gush from his nose and making him gasp for air in a horrifyingly sickly, choking moment.</p><p>There was no expected laughter, he dizzly thought, but there was a small, dull little round of applause from their audience of one.</p><p>The claps synced with the steps, and blurrily Wilson rose his heavy head and looked up to see a shadow, not quite illuminated by this not light, only a forebodingly tall silhouette that hovered over the both of them.</p><p>"What a valiant effort, pal. I would say you almost made it, but…" The silence trickled on for a moment, just as Wilsons arms suddenly decided they couldn't do it and he collapsed back down, his own blood going cold in the dirt around him as he shook in pain. "Far from it, unfortunately."</p><p>It was an effort, to keep his eyes open, squinted and blurry with unbidden tears from the agony, every breath strained from his raw throat, a part of him was almost surprised it hadn't been torn completely out, though from every attempted swallow and shuddering gasp maybe it had been, blood leaking from his mouth with no sign of stopping. He had to gape for air, his nose was clogged from whatever damage had been done and had given him a severe nosebleed, and it was almost humiliating, to lay here in the dirt and watch as that tall shadow slowly, almost gracefully circled about him.</p><p>And then that got swallowed by sudden panic, fear and a sense of raging, boiling protectiveness as he realized that shadow wasn't quite heading for him.</p><p>Webber didn't react at all, didn't even look to have their eyes open, but they still trembled, gurgling faint whispered spidery clicks and choked, bubbled sounds, curled up with their face tucked to their chest, back bent up and fur brustled in one huge puffball of pain and discomfort and overwhelming terror.</p><p>It wasn't quite a spiders death stance, nor death throes, and Wilson tried to force his ravaged throat to work, tried to even just cough out a few words of warning, anything to get them up, to get them to <i>run-</i></p><p>But there was just more blood, a sudden shiver of empty shifting within him that gushed it out in a thick stream before him, and vaguely Wilson wondered that one little thought he's wondered so many times now, <i>how much blood can a human body even contain</i>, a question he once thought he knew the answer of and now was so very uncertain about, and he could say nothing, choking on his own life essence and silently watching in dizzy pained horror.</p><p>The shadow halted, was still as if in thought, and Wilson could almost see the details now, straightened suit and thick fur collared coat and dark, pitch black shiny eyes, or maybe he just mentally put them there, too familiar with what he's been privy to, too familiar with the future pain he knew was coming, and he wanted to rage and fight it, stop it, grab Webber and get away-</p><p>But he couldn't. All he could do was lay here pathetically, slowly choking on his own blood, knowing his lungs were drowning and he was bleeding out and he was going to <i>die</i> and so was Webber and it was all his damn fault-</p><p>"Just look at you, poor dear." </p><p>The Nightmare King's voice flowed smooth, not a hint of sympathy in his faked cooing tone, deep and almost physically heavy in the darkness, in this false light that glowed about the three of them, and Wilson watched as that shadow elegantly crouched down before the curled up spider child. There was no answer, of course, Webber was too far into shock to even answer to Wilson, and he spat up a ragged cough, an almost wheeze at the King's expense, a vague hope he could draw the attention away, back to himself.</p><p>He only got a slow, dragging look, not even a scowl on that hollow face, just a thick disappointment that stung something in Wilsons and made him shudder at another fresh wave of pains, his chest was just killing him-</p><p>"You tried your best, didn't you?" The voice flowed through the shadows as the attention drew back towards Webber, and Wilson couldn't even lift his head anymore, it was getting harder to take in air, harder to keep a grasp on what was going on, this slow pace outrunned by his bleed out, his strained gasping and fluttering spotty vision, but he still tensed, for a brief moment, flickering biting rage as he watched a dark gloved hand slowly reach out and pet through the mane of bristles and spidery furs of their head.</p><p>"Sad to say that you couldn't get that help you needed, isn't that right?" A low hum, that devolved into a quiet chuckle, exhale of air that made Wilson's vision go red tinted in rage as he clawed his hands into the dry dirt, and his gasping, gagging coughs, attempts to speak even as his raw throat tore and he was spitting up more blood, went unheard. "Everyone always fails you in the end, pal; I don't quite understand why you head to them in the first place. Were not the spiders good listeners? Did they not take care of you when you needed caring, did they not help you when you needed helping?"</p><p>There was cold dread, settling in Wilsons gut and then twisting uncomfortably to the ravaged mess of his chest, up his throat, and his next cough stung something terrible, numbing pain as he spat up more than just blood, faintly recognizing the stomach acid and bile, but his dizzy mind was still trying to focus on the scene before him, still trying to find a way through this.</p><p>He already knew, deep down, that it was too late; the Nightmare King only visited when there was nothing left but death.</p><p>Even still, there was boiling hatred, vague understanding of what was being said to the child, and his injuries were going to be his true killers but it was eating him alive that he couldn't even try to refute every single word, to comfort Webber and assure them that he was still here, that it was going to be okay-</p><p>"The rest of them, the others, I suppose they've said so much to you already, made so many little promises, and you took them at their word, didn't you?" That clawed gloved hand pet over spider bristles, avoided the spidery limbs atop their head, encased by their skull, and the shadow looming over them leaned ever so slightly more, cooing in a smooth, slow voice. "And here we are now, with no help, no care left. You poor child, abandoned once more, like always; when will you ever learn?"</p><p>Wilson watched, dizzy and going numb and slowly suffocating, but he watched with flickers of rage and fear and panic as both clawed dark hands rose up, slowly curled around the spider child's head. Webber had not reacted at all, not even one twitch, and they still breathed, Wilson could see that, but they were limp in the Nightmare King's hands as he gently urged their head up, spider limbs hanging loose and weak.</p><p>A few of their eyes even opened, glazed in shock and pain and blindness, and the shadow leaned even more so, tilted his head and gave them a long, silent look.</p><p>And then there was a heaved sigh, as if in exasperation, mock sympathy, and Wilson trembled on his own, helpless, only able to watch.</p><p>"Let's try again, pal. You'll do better, next time, won't you?"</p><p>Webber gurgled a faint little sound, just noise, just reaction to the situation, making the shadow slowly nod as if in understanding, and Wilson gagged silently, angry and terrified and wanting, so very much, to do <i>something, anything</i> at all-</p><p>And then he was shocked still at the sudden loud <b>crack</b> that echoed in the night air.</p><p>He couldn't do anything, nothing at all, but watch as the Nightmare King oh so easily twisted the spidery head clean off.</p><p>There weren't any death throes; Webber was too far into shock to have any, just the faintest of twitches from their claws, and the furry body dropped dead with a sickening final thump, and Wilson-</p><p>-laid there and stared in horror.</p><p>The Nightmare King slowly rose back to his feet, still holding the head, the skull of a child, limp spider limbs draped over his taloned gloves, and the light didn't seem to ease up but when Wilson forced his smearing gaze to look upwards he swore he could see that unamused, near disappointed look still settled upon that hollow empty face. </p><p>He didn't know what he would have said, shocked to the core and frozen, deer in headlights at what had just happened, and the pain and agony and his own death was looming but <i>Webber had just been killed right in front of him.</i></p><p>The Nightmare King rolled the skull around in his hands, purple ichor leaking and streaking to his suit, to his sleeves, but he didn't seem to mind in the almost playful manner he tossed it back and forth between hands. Another hum, almost satisfaction, and Wilson was ignored in this blatant sick sense of a game, ignored and sitting in his own blood and coming death and watching as the ruler of the Constant amused himself with a decapitated childs skull.</p><p>And then the moment ended almost as quickly as it had begun, taloned gloves tightening over bristles and chitin, glazed white eyes and limp dangling spidery limbs, and the Nightmare King went very, very still, pitch black eyes staring down almost sightless for a moment.</p><p>And then he turned away from Wilson, looking out into the darkness, and with no fanfare tossed the skull out into the night.</p><p>"Do what you will with that." There was the faint silent sound, vibration of shadow noise moving before going silent, and the Nightmare King's voice was cold, empty of the false emotion and theatrics of earlier. "I do not wish to see it again."</p><p>It was quiet, for a few minutes, as Wilson gasped for fleeing hints of air, still too shocked to the core to even piece together a coherent thought besides <i>pain</i>. His chest felt all wrong and there was too much pressure, his heart pounding uneven and raw in tandem to the blood rushing in his ears, his own pulse sounding so very far away, and then the lowest noise, faintest flare up of light, and he sluggishly blinked up to realize the Nightmare King had a cigar in his hands now, tip glowing with warm embers as he settled it in his mouth, too many teeth to fit in there flashing for just the briefest of moments.</p><p>There was an inhale, deep, too deep to be human, and then the exhale, smoke rising in a cloud about the shadows face, smooth and dark and creeping through the air, increasing the tang of spice and roses and thick tobacco, of dirt and musty rot, and it took a bit, for Wilson to blurrily realize he had let his eyes slip closed.</p><p>Everything felt far away, distant, and the horror lingered on the outskirts but he just...couldn't catch it anymore.</p><p>He did blink, squint open his eyes for the briefest of moments when there was sound, footsteps and shifting and then another heavy exhale, he couldn't even choke on the thick smoke anymore, sucking in faint weak breath, heart hammering hard enough in his chest to add on to his pains, but it was only vague recognition, to notice the Nightmare King had dropped down into sitting beside him. There was no mind to his blood, soaking through the ground and inevitably the fine trousers and shined dark shoes, and Wilson had the vaguest of anger, rage and shock and true horror that would haunt him for ages to come, even if he long forgot this event, but it was smothered by the numbing dark wave that was slowly tugging him away, into a different gray darkness.</p><p>A hand, taloned gloves, pet through his hair, itched over his scalp in an almost soothing fashion, and in the confusion of mind fog and death haze Wilson could only lay there in his own quiet death throes, going under the last of the suffering numbing pains, under the hand of the one who had caused this all.</p><p>A low hum broke him out of the daze, for a moment, but his sight was dark and there was no more of the will o' wisp, only pitch black night and that hand petting over his head - <i>as if he was some mutt</i> - and only vague confused anger graced him anymore, weakness and exhaustion taking over.</p><p>"About time, pal." There was a vague recognition of hands about his head, trailing down to his cheeks and then holding firm, lifting him in a dizzy swell of nerveless nerves and numbing blindness, and he saw <i>nothing.</i> "You always drag this out just to spite me, don't you, Higgsbury?"</p><p>He couldn't answer to that, breathing too shallow, too weak, he was suffocating, he was <i>dying</i>, and still the Nightmare King forced him up, held his head in dark claws, those same claws that had done an awful sick deed just minutes before, but there was nothing left in Wilson for him to even be able to react. </p><p>For a brief moment, Wilson could almost see the shine of too many teeth, pitch black shiny eyes, something monstrously twisted looking down upon him with an almost satisfied, comfortable look upon its face.</p><p>"Good luck for the next round, pal; you'll need it."</p><p> </p><p>And then a tightening about his head, his face, claws digging in, and a swift jerking <b>crack-</b></p><p>And Wilson was gone.</p>
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